


Tick Tick Bang

by totilott



Series: A Groovy Kind of Love [17]
Category: DCU (Comics), Justice League International (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Break Up, M/M, Mind Manipulation, YOU KNEW THIS WAS COMING, whatever you wanna call max' powers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-10-21 08:22:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20690435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/totilott/pseuds/totilott
Summary: All it takes is a nudge in the wrong direction.





	Tick Tick Bang

The sun is setting, painting the sky a reddish purple, drawing the shadows out long, and Booster is hurrying home.

Why he’s hurrying he doesn’t know, he’s just too restless, too troubled to slow down. He feels like running, sprinting at max capacity until his lungs and throat burn -- some way, any way, to make his body match the speed and intensity of the thoughts zooming around in his head.

Too many thoughts. Too many, too fast, and he’s out of breath trying to catch them, too frazzled to hold them down, work through them one by one. He can’t catch hold of one before another appears, equally insistent.

He should have worn the ring. That way he could have taken off like a missile, far above the clouds where the sky is clear and there are no distractions. That place he’s alone, that comforting stillness where his mind has to slow down, where he feels more a part of the wind and weather than he ever does among the teeming masses of New York.

He really should have worn the ring.

So all he can do is hurry home.

_Home?_

Is the Embassy home? That dinky little room on the second floor, is that home? Living like a school boy in a dorm, is that where he should be at this point in his life? He had a mansion, once. Because he could. Not for long, he knew it was too expensive even when he bought it. It was an indulgence he knew he couldn't keep. But he had one for a while.

A moment in time he had a mansion.

He swallows, eyes down as he hurries onward. She said he can have his own apartment, if he's in. It’s not a mansion, but it’s not a dorm room either.

Already he finds himself in front of the Embassy, the bricks stained by dirt and exhaust, and he pauses to contemplate the building.

Is it home? If he never saw it again, never walked through the front door, would he miss it? If he --

He looks down at the front steps, frowning. There’s water seeping under the door, painting the stone steps dark as it drips down.

Must have been Ted mopping the floors again, using way too much water. He groans. Maybe Ted's really that clueless, maybe he's always had someone to clean for him, some poor maid picking up his messes ever since he was a kid. Or maybe Ted’s doing a terrible job on on purpose, being so frustratingly inept on cleaning duty Max’ll have enough and take him off it.

_What an idiot you are, Booster, always doing your best even when you’re being punished. What an obedient little door mat you are._

He opens the door.

* * *

_The waitress gasps involuntarily the moment he knocks over the glass, water soaking the table cloth, dripping down on the floor._

_“I’m so sorry,” Booster quickly says, reaching for his napkin, knocking a fork down in the process. “Shit, sorry.”_

_“It’s no problem, sir,” the waitress smiles, gently but firmly pulling the napkin out of his hands, dabbing the table. Booster lets her, regarding her cleanup with a frown._

_Jesus, if he’s this nervous and clumsy _before_ the meeting..._

_He sits back, restlessly folding his hands in his lap, forcing himself to sit still while another waitress gathers the glasses, the cutlery, everything, to change the wet table cloth. _Just sit still,_ he tells himself._ Or you’ll manage to burn the restaurant down or something.

_He tries swallowing down the anxiety, observing the room. It’s a nice place. bright and classy but not full-on snobby. Smartly dressed clientele, hip young people with designer accessories. Every table’s occupied, making him wonder how far ahead Ms. Montgomery had to get a reservation. How long she’s been planning this._

_He’s just here because he’s curious, of course. It’s not an agreement, showing up. It’s not a _deal_. He’s just here to hear what she has to say. Maybe get a little confidence boost, God knows he's been lacking in that lately, his knees sore and bruised from scrubbing the gunk behind the Embassy toilets._

_He readjusts his tie and takes a deep breath. It’s like a job interview. A job interview for a job he’s not going to take. He’s just curious._

_“Mr. Gold! Thrilled to finally meet you in person.”_

_He jumps up to greet her before really registering her presence, and he knocks into the poor waitress who’s trying to reset the cutlery on the table. “Whoops, sorry again,” he tells the waitress, who gestures that it’s alright. He turns to the smartly dressed woman behind him. “I had a little mishap with a glass of water." He smiles, apologetically._

_She smiles broadly in her dark suit jacket and skirt. There's an indomitable energy in her eyes, like a big game hunter in the thickest part of the jungle. “The service here is excellent, isn’t it?”_

_“Absolutely. Um.” He reaches out his hand, hesitating a little, wondering if that's what he's supposed to do, but she takes it, a firm handshake most businessmen would kill for. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Montgomery.”_

_She gently whips her short red hair out of her eyes. “Please, call me Claire.”_

_“Only if you’ll call me Booster.”_

_She places her little black purse on the table and sits down, not waiting for him to pull up her chair. “Yes, I think I will, Booster,” she smiles._

* * *

There’s a soft _splish_ with every footfall as he walks through the Embassy corridor. _Everything’s _soaked. The furniture, the walls. There’s even water pooling in the lamps on the wall. What the hell’s happened here? An attack by the Ocean Master, or Black Manta, or someone else of the... wet persuasion? Why didn’t they call for him? Or is he only part of the League to clean these days?

He can hear voices in the living room. Laughing`uproariously. Ted’s louder than most, as usual, and it makes something clench inside him. He pauses, unsure if he feels like facing Ted now, today of all days.

Everything's all wrong, continues to be all wrong between them. Just silence and resentment and doing dishes, scrubbing floors, dusting. Even when Ted's not around, every sweep of the broom, every spray of Windex just reminds Booster who put him in this position. Who carefully coaxed him along against his own better judgement, who led them to being punished like idiot children.

If circumstances had been different, he wouldn't have minded the punishment. Hell, maybe if Ted apolologized, if Booster felt like they were on even footing, he could make the best of being on cleaning duty. They could even have some fun with it. But Ted acts like there's nothing even to apologize _for_. Booster’s been miserable these last few weeks, waiting for just a tiniest hint from Ted that maybe the brilliant Blue Beetle did _something_ bad, said _something_ horrible and hurtful and maybe even felt a tiny bit bad about it.

Booster makes a face. _That's what a doormat I am, alright._ He'd accept something so trivial, swallow down so much hurt for a little bit of regret, of penance. But Ted just avoids him, acts like nothing's wrong when he's with the others. Hurries out of the room whenever Booster shows up, doesn't want to talk, doesn't want to be near him.

He could at least _try_.

Booster hears Max talking, too muffled to make out but he hears his own name being spoken, and then Ted bursts out laughing again.

The nerve. The actual goddamned nerve of those _fucking_ \--

“Hello, Booster Gold,” Scott beams at him, and Booster startles. “How are you today?”

“Shh,” Booster waves him off, trying to hear more of what’s being said in the living room.

"Hello."

“Scott, I swear to --” He’s been acting so weird lately. Maybe Booster’s not the only one heading for a meltdown in this place. “What the hell’s happened here?”

“Miss Fire and the sprinkler system,” Scott continues beaming. Then he flinches, making a a strange noise. “Sprinkler system. Sprink--”

“Uh, okay, Scott,” Booster waves him off. “Thanks.” He takes a deep breath, lowering his shoulders, and steps into the living room -- the dripping wet living room with Ted, Max and J’onn laughing it up without him. Even _J'onn's_ in on it. Booster glances at Ted, tittering in the armchair, and he frowns.

He could have the goddamned courtesy of being half as miserable as Booster is.

Booster moves his gaze to Max, and there’s a sour taste in his mouth. “Max, I -- I need to talk to you.”

“Ah, Booster!” Max grins. His charming car salesman smile. “I’m so glad you’re back. We’ve had quite a bit of water damage and we need you to clean it up.”

Ted tries to suppress a chuckle but it comes out like a snort.

* * *

_“But the... the others?” Booster murmurs, chasing a roast potato around the plate with his fork. “Don't get me wrong, I’m flattered you reached out to me, but you’re telling me I was your first pick? Not the Martian Manhunter or Batman or --”_

_"Trust me, Booster, I’ve had you in my sights for quite a while,” Ms. Montomery -- Claire -- smiles at him over the rim of her glass. “If the others should choose to come aboard this project, that’s all well and good, but it’s _you_ that I want for this.”_

_Booster pauses, shocked at the little flicker of excitement he feels at those words. At being in demand, pursued. He should play this cool, should act like he knows he’s hot shit -- the hottest shit in tights. Act as if offers like this come up every day._

_“Why?” he finally asks, candidly, certain he’s called her bluff. That she’s been all over, getting turned down by the _real_ heroes, the _real_ big guys, until she got far enough down on the list to have to come knocking on Booster Gold’s unimpressive door._

_“This is the part where I extol all your heroic virtues, is it?” She holds his gaze with a smirk, tilting her head. “You and I both know people don’t stick around in your line of business if they don’t have those kinds of qualities.” She holds up her glass of white wine. “So let’s take those as read.”_

_“You still haven’t answered why,” he nods at her, grimly satisfied that she's saying what he's always thought. That he's not special, flying around in tights helping people. “Why it has to be me.”_

_“Because you’re a lateral thinker, Booster.” She takes a sip, her maroon lipstick not even staining the glass. “Because in every phase of your career you’ve shown that trademark initiative of yours, your tenacity, your creativity at working towards something until you get it."_

_Booster feels a little ache in his chest. _

_"You have qualities that can't be found in the Martian, or Batman. That’s why it has to be you.”_

_Booster sits back in his chair, reminding himself that it’s just flattery. He’s only been in this work for four years, he can’t be swayed with praise._

_But it sure as hell’s been a long time since anyone’s even tried to flatter him._

_“And, honestly --” She leans over the table, her tone confidential. “Your charisma. You can’t help it, you enter a room or a reporter sticks a microphone in your face and you shine. People can’t turn away, people can’t help but like you.”_

_“Trust me, there are plenty of people who don’t like me,” he murmurs, emptying his wine glass. Like a shot a waiter is there, refiling it._

_Even people who like him start hating him soon enough. Another one of his _qualities.

_“A piddling minority,” she snorts. “Do you know you had the fastest growing fan club among heroes in the western hemisphere two years running?”_

_He shrugs. So he’s good at signing things, posing for photos._

_“People gravitate to you,” she taps the table with her finger. “And you know the importance of pleasing the right people. You know how to network.”_

_“Boy, do I ever,” he snorts, closing his eyes._

_“I’m sorry. I really shouldn’t have told you about Max.”_

_He sighs, squirming in his seat. He’s definitely not drunk, but with everything in his life lately -- the resort fiasco, the humiliation of cleaning duty to make up for it, Ted being an asshole, the wine has brought his misery to the forefront. “No, I, um... I’m glad you told me.”_

* * *

The water is seeping into his shoes, and he’s standing there, the butt of everyone’s joke. Max smirking like the cat who got the cream, Ted -- even Ted, who’s on cleaning duty as well -- is giggling at him.

_Clean it up. Clean everything up, let us delight in your humiliation. Who cares if your League work suffers because you spend every evening scrubbing the toilets? Your humiliation is more important than saving lives or catching bad guys._

His fists are clenched so hard his fingernails are digging into his palms.

_This is why they keep you around, Booster. To have someone to laugh at. This is what being in the Justice League means when you're Booster fucking Gold._

“What are you waiting for?” Max tells him. “Find your overalls and get started, and don’t worry --”

“--Guy already put the cat out,” J’onn smirks, and they all start laughing again, Ted loudest of all.

Not Booster. He doesn’t get it, and nobody bothers to clue him in. Because he’s not part of that group, not part of this League, not like they are. No exotic or affluent upbringing, no fancy education. No powers. No reason for being on this team at all, except to look good and be their little dancing monkey.

“You’re not laughing,” Max remarks, so oddly cheerful.

Booster's breath whistles through his teeth. “Oh, you noticed that, did you?”

“Ease up, Booster,” Max smiles, reaching out to place a comforting hand on his shoulder, like he’s done so many times, like he’s done every time Booster has been hesitant to play along. “It was only a joke.”

The moment his hand makes contact Booster flinches, and somewhere deep inside it feels good to flinch, to shrug him off like that. “Get your hand off me, Lord,” he hisses, and it feels so good to say it too.

“What?” Max mutters, his hand frozen in place.

“Get it off!”

The laughter stops as Max flinches back. They’re all looking at Booster, confused, shocked.

Their little mascot is done playing along.

“No, it -- it’s really just a joke,” Ted stutters. “You don’t have to clean it up, we’re off cleaning duty. It's done. Isn’t that right, Max?”

“Yes, we’ll hire someone, don’t worry about it,” Max murmurs, looking at him with a frown. "It was just a bit of teasing."

“Yeah, it’s always a joke,” Booster mutters. “Always a fucking joke at my expense.”

“You just came in late, it’s not -- “ Ted sighs. The nerve of him acting frustrated with _Booster_. “I think you’re overreacting a bit here, Boos.”

Booster wheels around to look at him and about seven different sentences want out at the same time, making him sputter.

That’s it, huh? If they’re off cleaning duty that means everything he and Ted have been fighting about is done with. It's done, he says. Like Booster's forgiveness is a given. Ted's been avoiding him like the plague but now the reset button's been pushed, now they're done paying the consequences, everything's back to the way it was?

“I’m not overreacting to a fucking thing,” Booster finally manages to sneer. “I’m just _reacting_ for once in my goddamned life, that’s what you all find so fucking shocking.”

“Booster, I think you ought to take a break,” J’onn tells him sternly. “I don't know what's going on but you seem very emotional right now.”

“Send me to my room, huh?” Booster snorts, drawing up as tall as he can, still having to look up to meet J'onn's gaze. “Go sit in the corner until my tantrum’s done, that’s how it is?”

“Booster.” J’onn’s chiding tone. His parental tone. That voice he uses when he wants you to know he’s not mad, he’s just disappointed.

Booster exhales through his nose. Once he had a mansion. Once he could come and go as he pleased. He lived his life as an actual adult, a real person who made choices about his own life. Not in this... orphanage for idiot superheroes.

He takes a deep breath, running both hands through his hair. “I’m just so --" His voice breaks, and he hates that it breaks. "Unbelievably sick of all this. You have no idea.”

Ted rises from his seat, facing him, frowning, searching his eyes. “Boos?” he says softly, and that’s the worst thing of all, that goddamned force of habit, the way Booster's heart, his body wants to react to that voice when it’s soft like that. Too many nights hearing that voice murmured in his ear, too many nights feeling the gentle heat from that body at rest against his own.

It’s not fair.

It's not fair.

He can't keep going on like this.

Life can't work like that.

If he gives in now, if he follows that siren call, drops everything, swallows down all this righteous anger, that only sets him up for the next time this shit goes down. He can stand to be disappointed in the others, but he can’t take another moment of being disappointed in himself.

He looks at Ted’s lips, unable not to, and says very very quietly: “I quit.”

There's a pause. “What?” Ted whispers back.

“I quit the League,” Booster says, louder. “I’m done.”

“Booster --” J’onn begins.

“The hell you are!” Max exclaims.

There’s an unfamiliar sort of... serenity in Booster. He turns away from Ted and stoops down to pick a soaked cushion off the floor. He regards it silently in his hand.

Only going forward. Never looking back.

That’s who he used to be, that’s who he’s always been deep inside. Until they tied him down, put him on a team, shacked him up with a bunch of C-list heroes. Before he was naive enough to fall in love with the straightest one of them.

He's in his prime. He’ll have time for regret when he’s old. Isn't that how it is?

He looks up, realizing with dim surprise Max has been talking the whole time.

“--your team mates, shrugging off that commitment they pledged -- _you_ pledged -- is an absolutely egotistical and, and frankly --”

“No,” Booster smiles, everything in him so still except his heart, which is pounding so hard he can hear the thrumming in his ears. “I told you. I’m done.”

“Booster, uh --” Ted’s voice breaks slightly, and Booster keeps his eyes fixed on Max, refusing to met Ted's eyes. “What -- what would you _do?_ ”

Booster tosses the pillow onto the equally soaked couch. “I’ve had a better offer.”

“Better offer?” Max sputters. “What, modeling? Selling cereal? What kind of --”

“A team,” Booster swallows, drawing up to his full height. “A new team, where I’m gonna set the terms, and get to make decisions and where, where --” Something is breaking through his serenity, and his voice is suddenly louder than before. “My opinions and, and, fucking self-respect is gonna _matter!”_

“Booster, my office,” Max mutters darkly. For a moment Booster considers refusing, telling him he’s not his boss anymore, feeling a distant rush of delight at this anarchy he's brought into the house. But fine. Fine. Let’s go to the headmaster’s office to get chastised, it doesn't matter anymore.

He doesn’t look at Ted as he follows Max up the stairs, past their hallway of bedrooms, into his tasteful mahogany-clad office.

“Sit,” Max tells him, finding a seat of his own behind his sleek designer desk, his back to the panoramic window he had especially installed.

“No magic words?” Booster murmurs.

_“Sit!”_

Booster smirks, leisurely dropping down on the chair, an arm slung over the back.

“You think this is fair?” Max asks immediately, resting his elbows on the desk, leaning towards him. “To your team? Your friends?”

“Did Batman get this speech when he quit?”

“Batman didn’t quit, he’s still a chartered memb--”

“Did Canary?” Booster frowns, meeting Max’ gaze. He thinks about what Claire told him, and there's a cold lump in his chest. “Did Captain Marvel? I’m not the first one to step away from this team.”

“They had their reasons.”

“I have fucking reasons!” Booster slams a fist on the desk. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you!”

There's a moment of silence as they regard each other.

“Booster, listen,” Max tilts his head. Smiles warmly. “If you feel like you’ve been underappreciated or not heard, I sincerely apologize, I really do.” He clasps his hands together. “But if this is about cleaning duty --”

“It’s not,” Booster sighs. “Or, that’s -- that’s just a part of it.”

“Do you think I’ve treated you unfairly about the resort?" Max searches his face. "About the theft of League funding?”

Booster closes his eyes, still that shame in him. _Theft._ “No. I don’t know. It’s not just that. It’s not just --”

“Well, I had to improvise, Booster. There’s not a guide I can consult about managing a team like this, you know,” Max sits back in his chair, turning his palms up in resignation. “I really didn’t want to kick you and Beetle off the team, so I had to figure out some kind of consequences for you, some way you could make up.” He shrugs. “It was only fair to the others.”

“I know, I’m saying it’s not just about the cleaning duty,” Booster murmurs, frowning at his feet.

“I don't know, sometimes maybe I --” Max sighs. “Maybe I make the wrong call. Like I said, I, I had to improvise.” He huffs, a crooked smile on his lips. “You need to tell me if you feel I'm making a mistake. I’ve only been with this team as long as you have, you know. I’m just as green as you.”

Booster looks away.

“You know that. You and me were a team before the League. We worked so hard to get here.” Max taps his finger gently on the desk. “To get in. Together.”

Booster frowns, looking down at his hands. “Yeah.”

“And then you just fit right in, right away,” Max grins. “I think no one even remembers you came in late, that’s how easily you became a part of this.” Max leans forward in his chair, the leather creaking gently. “I could only wish to have your position here, you know? Be as beloved as you are. And, well, all your friends are here, aren’t they?”

“I guess,” Booster murmurs. He takes a deep breath, and there’s a sudden thought in his head, right at the forefront of his mind, stark and insistent and _slower_ than his other thoughts somehow.

_Stay._

_Stay here, stay with your team, your friends. You belong here._

Maybe he... They could work things out. Here, where he knows everybody, where he can enjoy dinners in good company and corny game nights and bonding over terrible TV shows. Out there everything is uncertain, he doesn't even know who he's gonna be working with. Maybe he could stay. Maybe he _should_ stay.

“All your friends,” Max speaks softly. “Like... Like Beetle.”

_Beetle._

_Ted._

Ted who pushes him away, who got them in trouble in the first place, who can’t see why there’s a problem. Selfish idiotic beautiful hilarious Ted who ties him here, ties him into a relationship that isn’t a relationship, Ted who wants to go back to the way things were. Or maybe he doesn't even want that anymore, maybe he never really wanted it. Forever and ever being the butt of everyone’s jokes in public and being ashamed of kissing the person he likes in secret.

_No. _

_No no no no._ Booster can’t keep doing this. He’s trapped, locked in, and every attempt at stealing back some self reliance is met with ridicule. He's got the ball rolling, it'll only be harder to do that again later.

“No,” Booster murmurs, looking up. “I can’t stay. I can’t, um --” A white hot thought in his head again, searing into his temple. _Stay. Belong._ But he can't. He absolutely can't and he doesn't. That's the problem. “Fuck,” he mutters, pressing his fingertips into his temple, at the strange vibrating heat in there. “Max, um, your -- your nose is bleeding.”

Max exhales, reaching his fingers up to his upper lip, a heavy drop of blood streaking his upper lip, and the heat in Booster’s temple is suddenly gone.

Booster sits up straight again, wondering if he’s got a migraine coming in or what. “You okay?”

“Sure,” Max mutters, distracted, and reaches into a drawer to find a tissue. “Just... allergies.”

“I just know I need a change, Max,” Booster sighs. “A drastic one. I --” He takes a deep breath, searching for the words. “I know I’m newer at this than most, but that means I’ve got to, to try things, and experience things. I’ve got to --”

“Booster,” Max begins. “You really think everything’s going to be different if you just switch teams?”

“I don’t know,” Booster mutters. “But I sure as hell _won’t_ know if I don’t.”

Max regards him as he holds a tissue up to his nose.

Booster takes a deep breath, wondering what more can be said. It's done, he's not going to walk it back now. Not for Max, not for Ted, not for anybody.

“And the money?” Max murmurs, holding his gaze, something cold in his eyes. “It was a hefty sum, you know. You’re going to skip town, just like that?”

“No, you said --” Booster leans forward in his seat, frustrated. “Downstairs you said we were done on cleaning duty. We’ve made up for it.”

“Not that money.” Max scrunches up his bloody tissue and throws it his trash can. “The loan I gave you.”

“Fuck you,” Booster hisses, rising to his feet. “You said we were even. You can’t hang that over me forever.”

“I just figured it came with some loyalty, that’s all,” Max murmurs, holding his gaze.

“You want loyalty?” Booster sputters. “Or do you want a pet? You want me obedient and admiring, is that it? Your little collared plaything?”

Max snorts. “I don’t know what you’re implying.”

Nothing's ever over, there's no such thing as a free lunch, Booster knows that now. Nothing he's ever achieved was about his abilities or hard work. The disgust he feels with Max isn't even comparable to the disgust he feels for himself. _Stupid, naive Booster._

“How much to make up for the loan, Max?” Booster grins wildly, his pulse thrumming in his ears. “Once and for all? A blowjob? Want me bent over the desk?”

“Booster!”

Booster leans over the glass desktop and swiftly hooks his fingers into the collar of Max’ shirt, grasping it, the knot of Max' tie in his balled up fist, and jerks him to his feet, towards him. Max’ hands scrabble against the glass to find support, pens clattering to the floor. Booster can see the shock in Max’ eyes, the worry that Booster is gonna punch him or thrash him all over the office.

He could. He fucking could but instead he holds him up and kisses him hard. Defiantly.

* * *

_Booster looks over the menu in hands, already worrying about how badly he’ll mispronounce the dish when it’s time to order. How quickly he’ll prove he's just an unsophisticated jock. That even in his expensive suit he doesn’t belong in a place like this._

_“If you’re in the mood for starters," Claire smiles at him, perusing her own menu. "The _bouchées a la reine_ here is to die for.” _

_“Huh, great,” Booster mutters, panicking, trying to remember her pronunciation. _Boshay alla ren, Boshay alla ren_._

_Why don’t the menus in these places come with their own pronunciation guide? Are people just supposed to know these things?_

_Claire regards him with a smile. “You know, you’re the most successful of my ex husband’s little projects, if you don’t mind me saying so.”_

_“Is that right?” _Boshay alla ren._ Fuck, he’s supposed to pair it with a wine, isn’t he? There are rules about these things. He picks up the wine list, sweating as he reads the descriptions._

_“But then he has a definite type. I suppose with enough tries he had to strike gold eventually.” She giggles. “Sorry, I didn’t intend for the pun.”_

_“S’alright.” Booster flashes her a grin, before he resumes reading the wine list. More names he can’t pronounce. “What do you mean, _type?”

_“Don’t take it to heart, it doesn’t mean you’re not special,” she smiles. “Like I said, none of the others ever got him this far.”_

_“Hm,” Booster mutters. What’s in the dish? Fuck, he’s already forgotten what it’s called. Does it pair with white or red? He’s such a loser. White trash in a fancy suit._

_“Booster.”_

_He looks up, trying to hide his panic behind an easy smile. “Yes?”_

_Claire pulls the wine list out of his hands and gently closes it. “I’ll help you order.”_

_“Oh thank God,” Booster titters. “I’m not, um, used to these kinds of places.”_

_“It’s alright, you don’t have to be.”_

_Booster sits back in his chair, catching his breath. “What were you saying? About Max and his... _type?”

_Claire smiles confidentially. "I just mean it’s a... a repeating pattern, and you’re his latest. You --” She’s interrupted as the waitress comes over, and she orders for both of them in perfect French. Some part of it must be a wine order, but Booster doesn’t recognize a single syllable._

_“Thanks,” he murmurs as the waitress walks away. “I still don’t understand. What pattern?”_

_She glances around the restaurant with a demure smile. “Max, poor thing, has a definite weakness for, you know, young strapping blonde men,” she gestures at him with lacquered fingernails. “Loves to sponsor them, get wrapped up in their interests. And in return, well...” her voice trails off._

_“What?”_

_Claire grins back at him. “You don’t have to play coy with me, Booster. Me and Max were through years ago, I don’t mind.”_

_“Oh my God,” Booster murmurs, the other shoe dropping. “Oh my God, you think we --”_

_“I shouldn’t have brought it up,” Claire tilts her head and sighs. “It’s none of my business, I know. And besides the point, anyway, that’s not why --”_

_“Claire,” Booster interrupts her. "Sorry, I -- I -- I was under the impression Max was straight." _Very_ straight. He's seen Max more than once slip from a party with a leggy supermodel or two under his arm. _

_"Oh he is," Claire smiles, studying him. "He just discovers an exception once in a while. So you never --?"_

_Booster's pulse is thrumming in his ears. He feels like he's going insane. “I never fucked your husband, Claire. _Ex_-husband,” he corrects himself._

_“Hm,” she ponders. “And he never sponsored you? Did favors for you to help your career?”_

_“I mean,” Booster drums his restless fingers against the table. “Yes, but we didn’t --”_

_“His rates must have dropped considerably since I last saw him,” Claire chuckles and regards Booster as the waitress pours their wine._

_Claire’s tone of voice even makes him doubt himself. He and Max never even flirted, did they? Booster’s not flirted with men for years, not even the ones he wanted to. Too dangerous, in this time. And it’s _Max_. Not a glimmer of attraction there. Not on Booster’s part anyway._

_It’s _Max.

* * *

Max flails against him, but Booster’s grip is tight and strong. He doesn't let up even though he hates it. Max’ face against his is smoother, softer than Ted’s, Max’ lips less full against his own.

There’s a lump of disgust in Booster’s throat. It feels like kissing an uncle.

Finally he lets go, Max stumbling against the desk.

“Booster!”

“This the kind of thing you had in mind?” Booster hisses, looking at him.

“I -- what are --” Max stands up, straightening his shirt. His slicked hair is mussed, his cheeks flushed.

“I’m done, Max,” Booster mutters, his adrenaline high wearing off, leaving only exhaustion behind. “I’m done with you, I’m done with -- with Ted, I’m done with the League.” Ted who knew. Who knew even when Booster didn't.

_I need to make it on my own for once in my goddamned life._

“Claire’ll have someone to pick up my things later.”

Max is still standing there, wide-eyed. Finally he coughs. “Wait -- Claire? Who’s --” He makes a squeak of realization. “Claire _Montgomery?”_

“I’ll tell her you said hi,” Booster remarks over his shoulder as he heads out the door.

Now he knows. Knows for sure. That everything he’s achieved wasn’t because he was good or unique or hard-working. It was because the right people wanted to fuck him. That’s all he’s been. That’s all he’s ever managed to do. Be good-looking, seem appropriately fuckable.

And Ted was right. Max and Booster -- that was what was at the bottom of it all along. Not mutual respect, not a good guy entrepeneur seeing something worthwhile in him, wanting to help him, nurture him into the hero he wanted to be. It was all just nonsense, flattery. Trying to get into his pants.

Only Booster was too stupid to notice.

* * *

_“And you?” Booster murmurs, downing his third glass of wine, feeling full, content, if a little too warm._

_“And me?” Claire smiles, leaning her chin against her hand._

_The plates clatter as the waitress clears them up._

_“Do I fit into _your_ pattern?” Booster snorts. “Do you have a weakness for young buff blondes as well?”_

_Claire chuckles, meeting his gaze. “Don’t worry, Booster, I have absolutely no such designs on you.”_

_“Good,” he replies._

_“Any interest I have in you is because I know what you have done, and I’m excited to see what more you can do if I set you loose on the world.”_

_Booster trails a finger down his glass. “With you holding my leash instead of Max.”_

_“See? All Max has done is convince you that you can’t escape a leash,” she grows serious, her perfect smile gone. “What I want to do is to take off your collar entirely, let you be the boss. Let you decide whether the people under you should have leashes or not.”_

_He can’t help but imagine it, a team of his own. The potential there. A real team led by someone who knows how much it sucks to be on the bottom of the hierarchy. How much better he can do it, how much other heroes will thrive when they get to live up to their potential instead of entertaining the others._

_A team that could do better than the Justice League._

* * *

He thunders out of Max' office, Max still too stunned to speak, and the next moment he's in his own room. He remembers he has a gym bag _somewhere_, something to put his stuff into. He starts rooting through the bottom of his closet.

“Booster.”

He freezes at Ted’s soft voice, then continues working through the mess of shoes and coats without looking up.

“Booster, what the hell is going on?”

“Just something that’s been in the cards for years,” Booster mutters, finally pulling loose a crumpled gym bag.

“I -- I didn’t know you were this... unhappy,” Ted murmurs. Booster still can’t bring himself to turn and look at him. “Frustrated, sure, that’s par for the course in this team, but I didn’t --”

“’Scuse me,” Booster bumps into him on his way to the dresser and begins pushing fistfuls of shirts into the bag, not bothering to refold them.

"Look, if --" Ted hesitates. "If this is about the fight, I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry."

Booster pauses, eyes still fixed on the shirt in his hand.

That's all he wanted, right? An apology.

Granted it's a piss-poor apology, only brought on by desperation. There have been weeks of opportunity to apologize, but it only happens now, now when Booster's got one foot out the door.

But it was all he wanted, once.

"I said some..." Ted pauses, inhaling deeply. "Really stupid things. I don't -- I've just had a lot on my mind, I don't know why I..."

There's an impulse in Booster, he's on the verge of saying _No, you were right. You were right about Max._ Not that they'd slept together, not that Booster was that much of a whore to do that, but the principle, that was right.

A part of him wants to say it. But the shame sits in the bottom of this stomach like a boulder. That he couldn't see it; That he was naive enough to defend Max when Ted accused him.

He blinks, and then he continues pushing clothes into his bag.

“Dammit Booster," Ted snaps. "You can't just leave, uh -- Leave us like this!”

He can’t even fucking say it. Can’t even say "leave _me_”. Not even now.

Booster sets his jaw and finds his tights, his costume, and stuffs those into the bag too. He’s right to do this. It hurts, it sucks, but it's not like he can turn back now. There's no way open except to go forward.

There’s a noise from Ted, a sharp intake of breath. “Booster, fuck. At least say something. Let’s fucking talk about this.”

Booster finally turns, meeting his gaze. “We’ve tried talking, remember? Didn’t do a lot of fucking good.”

“Just tell me why!” Ted’s voice louder, sharper. “Is it about the resort? The League? About y--” He flinches, lowering his voice. “You and me?”

“Yes,” Booster mutters. “All those things. And a thousand other things.” He throws the bag on his shoulder. “It’s not something we’re gonna fix with a nice little talk, Ted.”

Ted’s hand is on his arm, and just the touch of him is so infuriatingly electric, so painfully enticing. Ted’s brown eyes look earnestly into his. His voice is soft. “So tell me where to begin.”

_Stay._ It’s a thought that feels different this time, nestled right in with all his other thoughts, at the same frantic speed.

_Stay._

But no. Not again.

He can’t keep doing this. He can’t keep letting himself down for little glimpses of happiness between all the frustration, all the heartache.

He shrugs off Ted’s hand and heads for the door. _Where to begin_, he asks. “In the year 2442,” Booster murmurs, not looking back. “Good luck.”

* * *

_He rises to his feet, straightening his suit jacket, and grasps Claire’s outstretched hand in his. “It was great meeting you, Claire.”_

_“You too, Booster, you’re everything I was hoping for,” she says, squeezing his hand fondly as Booster laughs self-consciously. “You let me know if you want in, alright? You have my number.”_

_“Yeah, I --” Booster’s hand drops to his side. “You’ve definitely given me a lot to think about.” A whole lot._

_“But you will think about it?” she grins, searching his face. “Remember, I’m ready to snatch you up the moment you say go.”_

_“I’ll think about it,” he assures her, knowing that it’s not gonna happen. He’s not gonna say yes._

_It’s not like he could just up and quit the League._

**Author's Note:**

> Ooh we're doing weird things with narrative structures now! Also the clearest attempt at using dialogue that's actually in the comic and building on that. 
> 
> If you're familiar with continuity you probably saw this part coming.
> 
> **[Song:](https://open.spotify.com/user/tilly_stratford/playlist/4SqomvmhyncWPEAobYUZ88?si=DNXWufsLSs29KqRywW2U9A)**  
Tick, tick, bang - Prince


End file.
